


Barely getting by

by Fleurisse



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleurisse/pseuds/Fleurisse





	Barely getting by

Gen kicked a rock as she made her way home from her former workplace. Her head was still pounding, and she squinted to keep the sunlight from burning her retinas. A few coins jingled in her pocket. It was probably enough to buy herself something to take the edge off the pain. There was a place she knew of nearby that was open this early in the day, but you had to be surreptitious when entering since it was, technically, illegal to sell alcohol until 11 of the clock. She saw some worn-out women walking together with baskets full of groceries, a couple of old men playing cards listlessly on their front porch, and a playground full of uniformed children; their high-pitched, excited voices pierced her skull like hot knives. There were no guards in sight, thankfully. She altered course toward the public house.

“Listen to this, Clarisse!” The youthful voice sounded uncomfortably loud and close to Gen. She glanced over to its source and saw a couple of girls perched on the schoolyard wall. One was reading from a book. “’Clivia Desrosiers was only sixteen years old when she became Empress. Nevertheless she was known as a sage ruler.’ I’m twelve. Maybe when His Majesty finally dies, I can become the new Empress. I’m the right House.”

“Yeah, right. Even supposing they do go straight to Owl without letting a Rat have a go, you’re still a commoner.”

“Where did you get that book?” Gen surprised herself, and the girls, by asking. They jumped down abruptly, strategically placing the wall between themselves and Gen, confused expressions evident on their faces. Gen got that a lot. 

“The library. In the school,” Clarisse replied, her tone implying that Gen must be stupid not to know that.

“Can anyone use it?” Gen asked, a different sort of ache spurring her on.

The two schoolgirls exchanged uncertain glances. “I think it’s just for us kids,” the first girl replied.

“Clarisse, Yvette – is everything all right?” Gen turned her gaze to the newcomer, a woman with darker red hair than herself, but there the resemblance stopped. This woman was pretty, a normal height, and curvy – in short, everything Gen had spent her life wishing she could have been. Gen tried not to let her jealousy show as the woman placed herself protectively between, and a little in front of, the two girls. She scrutinized Gen, then politely asked “Can I help you?”

“I was just inquiring about the library,” Gen mumbled. To the woman’s credit, she did not seem surprised when the hulking, awkward person in front of her spoke with a female voice. “I was wondering if it was open to anyone in the neighbourhood, or just your students.”

“Well, we have an adult literacy class three nights a week –“

“I know how to read!” Gen’s voice was louder and more gruff than she’d have liked. She struggled to bring her temper under control. “I just… I just don’t have the money to buy books,” she muttered.

“I understand,” the woman replied sympathetically. “However, this library is geared towards our students, so I’m not really sure that it would meet your needs, Mademoiselle…?”

“Doucette,” Gen replied, heart sinking. She just wanted a book, to smell the delicious woody smell of its paper, to lose herself in its pages. At this point, it really didn’t matter if she’d learn nothing new from it. “I can’t afford the Castalia.”

“There’s a public library on Thrall Street. Have you tried it yet? Membership is a good deal less than at the Castalia.”

Gen hadn’t, in fact, known that there were public libraries. She’d only been in Diablotin for a month, and much of that had been spent finding, and then losing (just that morning), a secretarial position at a law firm. She flashed the woman something which she hoped approximated a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mademoiselle.”

“Olivier,” the woman supplied, even though Gen hadn’t particularly been asking. “You take care now, you hear? And thanks for fighting for us.”

Gen halted mid-turn, surprised that the woman could have known. Images surfaced in her thoughts, images she tried hastily to bury once more. 

“It’s your trousers,” the woman – Mademoiselle Olivier, rather – nodded her chin towards Gen’s legs. “I recognized them as military issue. Come on Clarisse, Yvette, the bell’s about to ring. Recess is over.” Gen watched the little trio turn around, the teacher gently guiding her young students back toward the school building.

“She’s been drinking,” Gen overheard Yvette’s reproachful murmur as their backs receded into the distance. “She smells like my Dad.” She could not clearly hear what the teacher said in reply. She paused, rocking on the balls of her feet. The library called to her. But the public house called more loudly, and the dead called loudest of all. She needed to drown them out. 

The library would have to wait for another day.


End file.
